


Tonight You're a Stranger

by atanearerdistance



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Criminal Investigation, F/M, Mild Language, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atanearerdistance/pseuds/atanearerdistance
Summary: "If I become a sergeant," he’d said to her, breath ghosting across the skin on her stomach, "then what happens? What if I ended up taking Grey’s spot?"She’d laughed, the idea too coincidental and ridiculous to imagine. "We’d have to break up, I guess."It's too ridiculous to imagine. Until it isn't.
Relationships: Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118





	Tonight You're a Stranger

It ends like this: Sergeant Grey standing in front of the room, announcing his promotion to lieutenant, introducing Tim as the new Sergeant of Mid-Wilshire’s day shift. She woke up in his bed this morning, wearing his old Army shirt, woke up still sore from the night before, woke up _smelling like his body wash_ and she’s hearing about this at the same time as everyone else in the precinct. She feels the walls of the room closing in on her and he won’t look anywhere near her. There’s a stern voice in the back of her head, probably her father, snipping that she should have expected this from a cop, should have known that this would come from _him_ , but she shoves it away. 

_So this is it_ , she thinks to herself as she marches out of the back of the room, escaping the small crowd moving forward to congratulate him. He’s breaking up with her. He’s not even bothering to do it himself. 

“It’s about time,” Nolan says to her later. “He deserves it.”

“He does,” she replies, focusing on collecting her bag for the day, avoiding his eyes. “I’m really happy for him.” 

She’s been riding with Jackson for the better part of a year now, and thankfully, he’s almost as attuned to her moods as Tim. He’s quiet throughout most of the morning, and the city mirrors it; their neighborhood provides only a few tickets and a citation before lunch. When they pull up to the food truck courtyard at lunch time, neither one of them have so much as broken a sweat. 

“Guess he’s still patrolling today,” Lucy comments, nodding her head to the small table where Tim is sitting with Lopez, Nolan, and Harper. 

“Yeah, you ducked out before Sergeant Grey said - they’re making the switch official in two weeks. Tim’s going to shadow some before that.” Jackson shuts the driver door. “Tacos?” 

They’ve never made a habit of sitting together, she and Tim, so it’s not odd when she tugs Jackson across the courtyard to a small empty table so they can eat, but she sees Jackson shrugging at Angela when they sit down. “You two get in a fight, or something?” 

Lucy’s already halfway through her first bite. “Hmm?” 

Jackson laughs. “What’s with the coldness to your T.O.? Is it because you don’t want him to know how boring our morning was?” 

She takes a sip of her drink. “No, of course not. I just...I’d better get used to him being the boss, right?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Sure, I guess. That’s not new for you, though.” 

She can feel Tim looking at her, wants to swat it away like a fly. “We had a disagreement, okay? He was an ass, per Tim’s usual. Nothing to report to the chief about.” 

“Sure.” Jackson looks over at the other table again. “But you two are friends.” 

They’re all standing up, and Nolan approaches them while Nyla and Tim are walking back to their shop. “How’re the streets?” 

“Dull,” Jackson sulks. “Nothing of note, all morning. You?” 

“Much the same,” he nods. “Harper and Bradford had a busy morning, though. Must have been rough - or maybe the “I just got a promotion” high just doesn’t exist for Bradford.” 

“I’m sure he’ll reward himself with extra pushups, or something,” Lucy scoffs, but she allows her eyes to drift back to the other shop as they’re pulling out. When Tim looks at her, he attempts a smile. 

“Spoke too soon,” Nolan says cheerfully. “I gotta get back to the station. Desk duty won’t do itself.” 

She spends the afternoon trying to figure out how she’ll get her stuff out of his house without dealing with him. God, her outfit from _yesterday_ is probably still on the floor by his bed. She knows she could tell Jackson - she’s known that for months, really - but it won’t be good for Jackson to hate his new sergeant any more than it would be good for her to be dating him. 

“Lucy,” he says to her that evening, right as she’s approaching her car. It’s that soft, scratchy voice that makes her want to slam him against a wall and kiss him. He’s standing in the middle of the garage with his hands shoved into his jean pockets, tense. “I think we…” 

“No, I got it, Tim,” she responds, her voice strained. “No need to hash any of this out. I don’t think your message could be any clearer.” 

“But Luce…”

She sniffs, once, turning away. “I’m off tomorrow, so if you’ll just put my things in a box by your front door, I’ll stop in, drop off my key. Maybe spend the day researching other precincts nearby.” 

“Please don’t.” Her eyes flash back to him, _damn him_ , those blue eyes wide with nerves. He sighs, shrugging and casting them down. “It will set you back. You’ll have to prove yourself all over again. Having your training officer as a sergeant is…” 

“Fine.” She climbs into the car, yanking the door closed. He takes the hint, stepping out of the way so she can back out of her spot. “Anything else?” 

“I meant to...I mean I didn’t _plan_ on this…” 

“Does it matter?” 

He shakes his head. “No, I guess it doesn’t.” She can feel her eyes welling up, and she tries to disguise her sniff with her hand, but she can see him flinch anyway. “I just thought you would want to…” 

“We talked about this, Tim. We talked about what would happen. Did we not?” 

He nods, chagrined. 

“And you haven’t changed your mind about what would result?” 

“No.” 

“Then that’s all there is to say, isn’t it. We don’t need to have this conversation. You knew this morning that we didn’t need to, or we would have _had_ it.”

“That’s not true, Chen. I didn’t know Grey was going to come out with it today.” 

She braces her hands on the steering wheel, focusing forward. “Look. You made the decision on your own, and that’s good, really, it’s your career, your life. You did what was best for you. But now I’m upset, and I don’t think you’re going to make it any better, so I think it would just be good if we parted ways here and didn’t speak about this anymore.” 

He clenches his jaw, like he’s trying hard to keep something in. “If that’s what you want.” 

“None of this is what I want, Sergeant Bradford. Congratulations on your promotion. I have to go.”

* * *

Fuck.

…. _Fuck_. 

He’s never seen her as cold as that, like she’d heard the words and been petrified, like she’d turned to stone like the snake in one of the thirty _Harry Potter_ movies she’d made him watch. He’d been scared, he’d lost his nerve last night and the night before that and the five before that, thinking about how accepting the promotion was losing her, thinking about the fall of her hair on his pillows, thinking about trying to fix those banana pancakes before she woke up so he could catch that sleepy smile on her face as she woke up smelling them. He’d agreed to the promotion immediately, without stopping to think what it meant for them, and he’d been hating himself for it ever since. 

“Bradford,” Harper calls as he’s walking back into the precinct from the garage. “Just so we’re clear, I’m gonna fight you twice as hard as I fought Grey.” 

He gives her a half-hearted grin. “Is that even possible?” He catches up to her, and they start toward the main atrium with their desks. 

“Oh, I’ll make it possible. I’ll just have to get tips from Chen.” His throat feels thick, and Harper doesn’t miss the hesitation in his reply. “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

He swallows. “I got shot during her first week. And then we spent the first couple months dealing with my ex. She’s probably thinking about all that stuff happening again.” 

Harper wrinkles her nose. “In that case, maybe the night shift would give me more time with my daughter. Until then, do you want to look at something I’ve been working on, or are you headed out?” 

“Lay it on me.” 

_It_ is a series of liquor store robberies across the southwestern United States, following a pattern from New Mexico to California, the latest in the Mid-Wilshire district. “All these stores have cameras, but he knows what he’s doing - no prints anywhere, not even on these cars he’s stealing to get there. But that’s not even the impressive part, look at this.” She clicks to a different tab on the computer. 

“He’s been spreading out his robberies across different police precincts?” 

“And over periods of time. He’s counting on us not communicating with each other, connecting them together. It would have worked, too, but he’s got a signature - at every damn one he steals bottles of Jim Beam.” 

“Since the money in the cash register wouldn’t cover that, I guess. Grey know?” 

“And go over my sergeant?” She smirks at him. “He’s on it. Go home, enjoy your last few nights where you get to be off duty.” 

He sighs. “I haven’t felt like I was off duty in about four years, at least now I’ll get paid like it. Night, Nyla.” 

“Congrats!” She calls after him, and he waves behind his back.

“ _Let’s go get a beer_ ,” he’d said to her, on her third day as a full patrol officer. She’d been starting to tell him about her day out with West, a foot chase across a film set, a flat tire in front of an armed robbery, and he’d nearly walked into his truck, distracted by the effort to catch every word. 

They’d gotten eight beers each in eight shifts, before Tim had nudged Lucy to admit that she really wanted red wine, and then in the ten shifts after, they’d split an assortment of Bartender Greg’s suggestions. Old Fashioneds, Negronis, Mai Tais, and then they’d started to let Greg go for it, drinking whatever he put in front of them without so much of a glance, until - 

“This is my newest invention,” he told them one Friday evening, the bar starting to fill up. “Made it just for you two, I’m thinking it will be a hit for the weekend crowd. It’s called ‘These Two Are Gonna Fuck’.” 

He’d felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, felt the need to need to glare at his former favorite bartender, felt the need to apologize profusely to Lucy, who deserved none of this harassment, until he’d turned and caught the look on her face. 

She’d been blushing. 

Later, as they’d waited for an Uber to take them to their respective homes (the “These Two Are Gonna Fuck” had a _lot_ of tequila), she’d cocked her head at him on the sidewalk. “Tim? Are we doing this, or not?”

“Doing what?” He’d tried, but his voice cracked like a teenager and he’d had to laugh, letting his shoulders drop and finally slipping his arm around her, the way he’d wanted to for much longer than he ever cared to admit. 

The Uber had only made one stop that night. 

* * *

“Lucy, you ready?” 

She tugs the covers over her head. 

“Lucy, come on, we’re going to be late for Tim’s first day! I wanna watch you throw things at his head.” She shuts her eyes, willing Jackson away, but it’s no use, she hears her bedroom door opening. “Permission to open my eyes?” 

“Might as well,” she replies, voice muffled. 

She immediately feels the weight of him sitting down on the side of the bed. “Are you okay? Do you need help? I can call in a sick day.” 

She inches the covers down, exposing her eyes and nose. “No, I need to go in, it’s his first day. I just drank _way_ too much last night.” Lucy tries to wiggle her way up, groaning as she does. Jackson, her dear, beloved roommate, is collecting clothing for her, mostly the jeans thrown over the dresser and the first shirt he finds in her middle drawer, but she’s grateful anyway,and even manages to giggle when Jackson takes one look at her lingerie drawer and wrinkles his nose. “I’m up, I’m up.” 

Jackson brings it up while they’re carpooling to the precinct. “Okay, you have to tell me. You’ve been off for days now. Did you and Tim get into a really serious argument or something? Was he a jackass like in the beginning?” 

Her heart skids. “A jackass about what?” 

“Hell if I know. Everyone’s been saying how you must be excited because you two get along so well and he’s the new boss. But you’ve been avoiding him.”

She stares out the window of the car, pressing memories away. “He and I, we just…” she feels her eyes welling up and manages to force it away, disguising an emotional sniff as a weather-related sniff, “like I said before, we had a disagreement. It doesn’t matter now, but he hurt me, and now he’s my boss again.” 

Jackson tilts his head toward her, glancing over when traffic permits. “Want me and Nolan to hold him down so you can punch him?”

“Like I’d need your help.” They pull into the garage, and Lucy absently runs her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to punch him, anyway. We’re just not going to be like we used to be, and I need to accept that.” 

They’re running late, and Lucy unbuckles her seatbelt as Jackson’s turning the car off, but he hesitates. “You know, just because he’s a sergeant now, you could still figure out a way to...I mean, it’s always seemed like...well…”

Her cheeks burn. “But it’s not. That’s all there is to it.” As she sees him start to apologize, she shakes her head, and they jump out of the car to head inside for their morning meeting. “You’re just trying to help. I know Tim’s been different with me than we heard he was before with his other rookies. But not...that. It can’t be.” _Not anymore_. 

They manage to get changed and arrive in the meeting room just as the hour is changing, Jackson’s height obscuring Lucy as he moves just ahead of her. Tim’s standing at the podium, talking to Smitty and a few others, and as even fifteen feet away Lucy can tell that he’s nervous. It’s time, so the officers in the room take their seats, and Tim’s eyes lock on hers the second she drops into her own as he takes his place. He belongs up there, she knows, he’s worked his ass off for a decade for it, he’s ready. 

It still hurts just as much, watching him cement their decision. _If I become a sergeant_ , he’d said to her, breath ghosting across the skin on her stomach, _then what happens?_

 _Nothing, I assume_ , she’d breathed back, _except that I don’t get to see you all day. It would suck if we were on different shifts._

_But what if I ended up taking Grey’s spot?_

She’d laughed, the idea too perfect to imagine. _We’d have to break up, I guess. We can’t...I mean, it would be like when you were training me, we can’t maintain a relationship like that, right?_

 _Definitely not, it’d be totally inappropriate for us to be together with you manipulating me to do what you want,_ he’d smirked, mouth moving across and up to her breast, and then the conversation had been over. They’d discussed it again later, of course, they’d discussed all the possibilities, but they’d dismissed it, it wouldn’t happen to them, it wouldn’t happen to this thing blooming between them, this thing that was making Tim smile as he woke up and Lucy feel safe again as she walked the streets of LA at night, this thing that was so much bigger than she’d thought it would be. 

But then it had happened, and everything had changed. 

“Morning everyone,” Tim says. “I’m your new Sergeant, Tim Bradford.” There are a few cheers, and some good-natured boos from Nolan and a couple others. “Let’s get started.” 

* * *

“You know all these guys from your own experience, but I’ve added a few notes - a confessional, if you will, of what I think of everyone out in the field. You’ll note that Nolan’s comments are over a page long.” 

Tim chuckles. “‘Means well, impossible to train’ didn’t cover it?” 

“Well, I thought it deserved some clarity and I wasn’t sure you were going to be the unlucky successor. But still, we may have only scratched the surface of what he may recklessly do to save a puppy, literal or figurative.” 

Tim nods, eyes scanning down the page. “Yeah, this all tracks. Is there anyone you’ve been wanting to separate? I could take that bullet for you.” 

“McNulty and Adams. I swear if one of them crashes another shop, they’re paying for it themselves. On that note…” Grey shuts the door of Tim’s new office. “It’s going to be a real adjustment, I know, regulating and organizing this group, especially this last group you helped train. You may need some space for a while.”

“It’ll be weird, but I don’t think Nolan, West, and Chen are going to disrespect my authority. Now Harper, on the other hand…”

“I’m not talking about them,” Grey crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m talking about you. You’ve been friendlier with them than most groups. That will have to change.” 

He swallows. “Yeah, I know. I’ve already talked to Chen about it.” 

Grey studies him for a moment. “Good,” he says finally. “Now let’s get down to this whisky business.” 

Their liquor store robber has been at it again, this time up near San Francisco. “We’ve started an open line of discussion with all of our California police contacts, and some from Arizona and New Mexico have helped out too - one has some information that may help,” Grey tells him, pushing a file across Tim’s new desk. There’s a photo, now, and a name - Jeff Lawson, 27, imprisoned in New Mexico five years previously for assault and battery.

“No past robbery charges?” Tim asks, surprised. 

“This guy has quite a history - he grew up here in LA, ended up in New Mexico for some college before dropping out. He was in the foster care system briefly before he became of age.” 

“So what makes him a suspect?” 

“He broke out of state prison two months ago. First robbery happened fifty miles away, two weeks later. They think he’s been working his way home.” 

“Any living family?” 

Grey sighs. “A father,” he says eventually, eyeing Tim carefully. “His notes from the foster care system suggested that there was an abusive past. The state suspects he’s after him - the prison in New Mexico uncovered some writing he had done while there, attacking him, talking about revenge.” 

Tim resents the look on his new lieutenant’s face even though the drop of his stomach at the words suggests that the look is probably justified. “And,” he clears his throat, “is - is that father aware?”

“He was made aware this morning, and has elected not to relocate.” 

Tim looks down at the floor. 

“Sergeant Bradford, is there a problem?” 

“No sir,” he straightens, “Not at all. I’ll make sure we’ve got a patrol close by until Lawson is in custody.” 

“Glad to hear it.” Grey stands. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

The day goes by in a haze, with new fires to put out and old ones to tamper, and before Tim knows it, it’s the end of his shift and his patrol officers are filing back in to change and clock out. “What are you going to do with a whole group of babies?” Angela says, poking her head in and catching him watching them walk through. “Just one keeps you up at night, worrying.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tim says immediately, eyes focused on the window in the door. “Wish you were one of them?” 

“No way in hell,” she answers promptly, and grins at him. “Are you feeling weird about all of it? You’ve wanted this a long time, and now it’s like you’re not even happy about it. They respect you, you know. They’ll work hard for you.” It’s on the tip of his tongue then, so close he can hardly keep it back, _I fucked up, I fucked up so bad and now none of it matters_. “Seriously,” she turns away from the door and to him, eyes big and earnest, that look that conned him into becoming her friend all those years ago. “What is going on with you?” 

“This doesn’t seem relevant to our police work, Detective Lopez.” 

“Don’t ‘police work’ me, Tim.” She touches his forearm, where it’s crossed over his chest. “I’m only going to ask this once, and then I’ll drop it, I promise. Is this about Lucy?” At that, his chest constricts, and his eyes automatically flash onto hers, but he bites his lip and stays silent. 

Her expression drops. “No further questions,” she mutters, and rolls her eyes when Tim tries to break the ice by making a quip about Wesley rubbing off on her. “I wouldn’t ask, I wouldn’t even notice if I didn’t know you. It’s kind of like Isabel all over again, except this time you’re just sad in your corner, and she probably has no idea…”

“Lopez.” 

Angela nods. “Sorry, I’m done. I...can I help?” A thousand requests flash across his brain at that, but none of them are logical or even possible, and he chooses to remain stoic. “Okay. Okay.” She touches his arm again, and then glances around the room. “The office is pretty nice. If you like Grey’s leftovers, anyway.” 

“It’s good,” he replies tightly. “It’s what I wanted.” 

* * *

It had turned out that Tim was only slightly more forthcoming as a date than he was as a T.O. 

Lucy should have known that, really, Rachel had talked her through her messy first date with Tim more than once, but Lucy could now admit to herself that she’d blocked most of that conversation out. Sure, he’d told her a lot more over a month’s worth of drinks after work, but it hadn’t been until a week after that first night under his covers - that first incredible night, with so much skin and lips and _teeth_ \- that she’d gotten him to tell her something she didn’t already know about his personal life. “You’re going to psychoanalyze me,” he’d complained that first weekend they’d made plans to sneak off together.

“I won’t, I promise,” she’d leaned over him, sitting on his stomach. “I just want to know you.” 

“You know the important things, like Isabel, and my dad. How I ended up in the force.” Now that he was regularly seeing her with her hair down, he had seemed to have a fascination with it, lacing it through his fingers, tucking it behind her ears. 

“Yes, and your policing philosophies, all very important,” Lucy had huffed, “but I want to know all of the in between things, too. The ones that add up to be big things.”

“What, are we filming an episode of _The Bachelor_?” 

She’d lit up at that, bouncing a little, and he’d groaned, hands coming up to rest on her hips over her leggings. “You see? How would I ever find out that you’ve watched that show?” 

Tim had been quiet for a moment, and it had hit her - _Isabel_. “Or literally anything else. I want to know it all.” 

Tim pressed his lips to her calf for a moment at that, sighing. “I...I saw you,” he’d admitted reluctantly. “Your first day, when you arrested that guy trying to steal your car. I assumed you were a detective or something, you were great.” 

Lucy had grinned. “Go on, tell me more.” 

“I owned both an NSYNC and Backstreet Boys CD and I learned dance moves from both. I wore a white tux to my senior prom, and it didn’t fit because I had to borrow it from my friend’s dad. And,” he’d hesitated, “now, when I think about things like that, I always do the math in my head of how old you were when I was doing it. And every time it makes me feel like an asshole.” 

_Prospective Doctoral Students_ , it reads. _Students are admitted by one of the department's eight areas:_ _Behavioral Neuroscience_ _,_ _Clinical_ _,_ _Cognitive_ _,_ _Developmental_ _,_ _Health Psychology_ _,_ _Learning and Behavior_ _,_ _Quantitative_ _, and_ _Social Psychology_ _. With rare exception, this area affiliation is retained throughout a student's stay in the program. Much of the program is administered by the areas. For example, the area has immediate responsibility for directing the student's progress. However, students can take courses from_ -

“Officer Chen?” 

“Yeah,” she says immediately, switching browser tabs. It’s the end of the last night of Tim’s first week as sergeant, nearly eleven, and lucky them, they’re the last two from their shift out the door. Really, Lucy had finished her paperwork nearly an hour ago, but she’s so grouchy and tired and _sad_ , and somehow the simultaneous desire to walk out of the precinct and never look back is warring with her desperate need to succeed, her core, unshakeable belief that she’s right for this job, that she’s good at it, and she’s stuck right here at her desk, late, looking up at her sergeant and ex on a Friday night. 

“Not done with paperwork yet?” 

“No, I, uh…” she closes her laptop, latching it to the security cord on her desk for the weekend. “I was just looking at some stuff. Non-work related.” 

Tim seems to take a deep breath, uncertain. “You should get home.” 

“Right.” When she stands up, she sees him studying her, a puzzled look stretched across his handsome face. “What is it?” 

Immediately, he takes a step toward her, reaching out. “Lucy, can’t we just…” 

“I’m sorry, I should have been more clear,” she cuts through, “Did you have anything to say that has to do with our police work?” 

His arm drops to his side. “No.” 

“Then good night, Sergeant Bradford.” She collects her purse from the bottom drawer and marches away from him, even as her body is screaming to just go back, let him talk, hear him out, let him hold her. 

Not here. Not now.

“Chen,” he calls out, right before she turns the corner. “Great work this week.”

She freezes, a retort climbing up her throat, something like _where the hell was that when I was training_ , but she holds it in. 

She doesn’t think she really wants to go back to school. Grad students are basically indentured servants, and she doesn’t have that much interest in pursuing psychology further; furthermore, she wouldn’t be able to handle the smug comments from her parents if she were to enroll. She’s desperate to do something, though, even after a month. 

He won’t stop looking at her. It’s not obvious, at least not that she can tell, but he looks all the same, whenever he’s out in the area and they cross paths, whenever he sees her as she’s leaving the locker room for the day. Lucy can’t figure out how his old rookies couldn’t handle him, because everything he thinks, everything he feels, it’s all right there, in those big, thoughtful eyes of his. It’s regret, she knows, and it helps a little, but it’s also guilt, and a bit of stubbornness, and there’s no small amount of pleading in it, either, and he knows full and well that she can see all those things. Those aren’t the parts that make it ache. 

When he’d trained her, she’d realized that the startled look on his face whenever she did something successfully was a measure of pride, of approval. She’d sought to earn it more often, and then it had shifted from looking startled to looking expectant, but it was still proud, and at some point she’d stopped seeing him look at her any other way. “ _Stop it_ ,” she’d swatted at him, one night over a home-cooked meal, “ _stop looking at me like you’re proud of me, I’m not your trainee anymore_.” 

He’d shaken his head, amused. _It was never pride, Boot_ . _I just think you’re kind of amazing._

He’s still looking at her that way now. 

* * *

She breaks after another week. “Luce,” he says in the scratchy voice, one mid-morning when she’s finishing filling him in on the suspect they’ve just booked in. 

She’s halfway to his office door. “We’ve gotta get back out there. You know our route has been busy the last few weeks.”

“Lucy, please.” He tries again, gentler. 

“God, you know what, what?” she replies, begrudgingly, throwing her hands in the air. “What do you want?” 

“I…” He hesitates. 

“You see? You don’t have anything to say, you haven’t since the promotion and you know it. There’s no point in talking at all.” 

“That’s not true, Luce, you just haven’t wanted to hear anything I have to say,” he frowns. “You...you always believe the best in people we see on the street, but you didn’t want to hear me out.” 

Lucy bites her lip. “Fine, fine.” She looks like she wants to add something else, but she holds back. 

Tim takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think, Luce. Grey told me about the option and I said yes before I even recognized that it was this precinct I was accepting. I’ve been wanting to move up since you finished training, you know that. That was stupid, and careless, and I wish I hadn’t. And the week after, I kept trying to think of how to tell you, or trying to come up with ways to take it back, but I’d already turned down the North Hollywood job, and I didn’t know how I was going to justify turning down another job if I hoped to be offered a third. And I didn’t know, Luce, I really didn’t know that Grey was going to announce it when he did, I hate that that is how you found out. I wanted to talk it over with you right away, but you wouldn’t listen to me, Luce. I’ve never seen you mad like that before.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Tim? We could have figured something out, told Grey you didn’t feel comfortable operating over us after working with us, we could have told him we were dating, for Christ’s sake. Did you even trust me?” Her mouth quivers. 

“Lucy, of course I trust you. But there’s a difference between trusting someone and trying to work through something yourself, and I was mad at myself for even saying yes to the job in the first place. When you found out, you shut down on me, and I just assumed you didn’t want to work it out.” 

“I just don’t understand how you can tell me you love me, act like you’re committed to this, and then accept a job without it even crossing your mind that it might impact our relationship.” She takes a step back. “You thought I didn’t want to work it out? How was I supposed to watch what happened and not think the same thing of you?” 

“I get that,” he says. “I...I’m sorry, Luce. That’s not what I wanted.” 

There’s a knock at the door of Tim’s office. “Hey Lucy, you ready to head back out again?” Jackson asks. “Nolan says if we find that old guy from the gas station yesterday before he and Harper do, he’ll buy us lunch.” 

Lucy watches Tim’s mouth twitch at the deal, but he refrains from commenting. “Yeah, we’re just finishing up.” To Tim, she says “You win, Tim. I can’t help you figure this out, you have to do that on your own. Just let me know when you do.” Then she’s out the door. 

* * *

“Lawson is armed, and he is dangerous,” Tim addresses the room a week later. “The state department believes that after his robberies in San Francisco, Santa Cruz, and Paso Robles he is headed back to Los Angeles at any moment. Special care to any liquor stores, distilleries, or bars along your route. Smitty, agents have been set up on his father’s street, so be sure to check in with them when you’re driving through. Let’s get this guy.” When he claps his hands together, the meeting ends. 

Lucy’s been on edge for a week, and not just because of her sergeant. Lawson is moving across the state with tireless speed, dodging local, state, and federal authorities along the way, and somehow his home base is suspected to be right inside their precinct. She and Jackson have worked late the past six shifts in a row, and they haven’t been any closer to finding him. 

In the middle of the afternoon, they’re called to a nearby shopping center - the wine and spirits shop attached to the grocery store has just been robbed. “Stop there,” Lucy says, pulling up to the corner. “God, Jackson.” 

The inside of the store is a mess, displays knocked over, glass and alcohol spread everywhere. “Yeah, it’s Lawson,” Jackson says into the phone after showing his mugshot to the terrified cashier. “Left fifteen minutes ago, wrecked the place. Cashier says he was alone, didn’t recognize the vehicle from any of the previous ones. His usual pattern.” 

“7-Adam-11,” they hear in the radio, the new transfer from a San Francisco precinct, Hannah Phillips. “I-I think that’s because he was just over here on our route. We tried to pull him over in the vehicle you described for speeding. H-h-he had a gun. One deceased, two injured.” She pauses. “A child.” 

* * *

_“How do you keep yourself from getting emotionally invested?”_ She’d asked him, early in her training. He’d laughed, then, but now she knows the truth. He’s more invested than any of them. 

She finds him at his desk late that evening, as expected, head against his hands and elbows propping him up. The weight of the day is almost tangible in his demeanor. She exhales, softly, wishing it away. “Hey,” she says, and she knows he’s hurting by the slow way he glances up at her.

“Hey,” he says shortly, removing his elbows from the desk and straightening. “You heard?”

“It’s not your fault,” Lucy says immediately, stepping into the small office. “There’s nothing you could have done – and Phillips and Myers did everything they possibly could.”

“I shouldn’t have paired Phillips with Myers,” Tim mutters, looking at the computer screen in front of him. “I knew, they’re too close to the same size, they’re too small, maybe if I’d given Myers to a bigger…”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Bradford.” He closes his mouth with a slight nod, and glances at the stack of paperwork next to him. “You should go home.”

“I can’t,” he says, voice breaking, “there’s too much to do…and the girl’s parents’ don’t get to take her home, why would I get to, and…” His eyes flicker back over to her.

She takes another step toward him, standing next to the desk. “And there won’t be anyone there when you get home,” she guesses, touching his shoulder lightly. “You’ll be all alone.” 

He stiffens. “That’s not…I wasn’t going to say that, Luce.”

She lowers herself, balancing precariously on her feet and grabbing his hand to take between hers. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”

He swallows. “Luce…I mean Officer Chen…”

“Tim,” she interrupts, squeezing his hand, “you really need to go home. I’m fine. You don’t need to pacify me.”

He stands up, tearing his hand away. “I’m not trying to _pacify_ you, Lucy, it’s just that a ten year old girl under _my_ jurisdiction died today, and on my shift, and the responders were the officers that I assigned inappropriately, and there’s a mountain of paperwork that needs to be done to handle it, I…”

“Tim,” she stands up, approaching him again, watching him tense again. “Tim, there’s blood and dirt on your arm.”

He looks down. “I helped Myers clean up the shop. Phillips was…well, she wasn’t okay, and there were more questions that needed to be answered.”

“I’m gonna help you, Tim” Lucy tells him, firmly. “Me, Lucy. Not Officer Chen.”

He bites his lip. It’s been two months since the breakup, now, but the wounds are so fresh it may as well have been yesterday. “I don’t want to be alone, Lucy.”

“I know.” Her eyes are clear, focused. He wants to drown in them. “Come on.”

It’s so late that the night shift has already come and gone out on their respective patrols, the station is nearly empty. Lucy hesitates a bit outside the door to the men’s locker room, but when she pushes the door open and hears nothing, she pulls Tim inside. _This is the behavior that could get us in trouble_ , she realizes briefly, but she pushes the thought away as fast as it arrives. Tim’s still only halfway with her, feet pattering anxiously away on the floor, and then she realizes she doesn’t actually know where his locker is. “Tim?” She nudges, and he walks to one in the middle row on autopilot. He starts tugging off his tie, then fumbling with the buttons – he’s down to his undershirt, almost immediately, but she stops him when he starts to reach for the button-down he’d worn in that morning and left in the locker. “Tim, no,” Lucy says urgently, “You can’t go home with that under your fingernails, you’ve got to…” She tugs the shirt out of his hands, and looks into his locker. “I don’t want you going to sleep tonight with that still…still on you.” 

He stares at her, eyes cloudy gray, nearly empty. It’s not Tim – not the Sergeant Bradford she knows, anyway, because he’s never been good with words, but he’s never had to be, has he, not with those big eyes betraying his every thought. “Lucy, I…”

She can’t…she _can’t_ , it’s too much. They haven’t been alone together since the last incredible night, when she hadn’t known anything was wrong, hadn’t known the end of the only important relationship she’d ever had was just a few hours away, hadn’t known the days ahead were cold and lonely. It’s been easy, almost, forcing herself to be angry with him when he has the audacity to look at her in that calm, awestruck way that he has since he was her T.O., the way that she knows means that he adores her and he’s forcing himself to stay away. But looking at her with nothing in his eyes? It’s more than she can tolerate.

Lucy kisses him.

To make that expression go away, first, but then she kisses him because she’s been forcing herself not to for eight unacceptable weeks, eight of the worst weeks of her life. She kisses him for his soft, unfairly large lips, and the way they feel against hers. She kisses him for the tension in his chest and arms punishing him for a girl he couldn’t quite save. She kisses him.

He responds faster than he has all night, hands flying into her hair and around her waist. He tugs her so close she momentarily can’t breathe, and then, almost immediately, softens his grip, perhaps remembering the other time she couldn’t. “Lucy,” he moans against her, and she breaks the kiss, looking into his locker.

She locates his shampoo almost immediately, and the matching bottle of shower gel right after. “Come on,” she instructs him, and he hesitates. “Tim…” she breathes, and his eyes latch onto her fingers as they pull her own shirt up and over her head. “Just repeat after me, okay?” She mumbles, and he nods a little, pulling his undershirt off. Lucy has to keep herself from hissing at the sight of his chest. “Next,” she says instead, toeing her shoes off, and when he’s copied that and added his socks to the discarded pile on the locker room bench, he watches her as she undoes her belt and the button of her jeans and tugs them down her legs. When she looks up, his eyes are still on her thighs. “Tim,” she says, and she reaches forward, hand shaking as she undoes his own pants and lets them start to slide down on their own. He swats at them, absently, eyes fixed on her, but after a moment they’ve joined the pile as well.

“What are you trying to do,” he growls, stepping forward. She thinks absently that it’s supposed to be a warning, but his hips tilt against hers, and there’s really no doubt where this is going.

“I’m doing what I have to do, Tim.” She’s firm, and she has that challenging gaze about her that she’s learned makes his heart race. “What about you?”

His tongue darts out to touch his lips, and he looks back down at her chest. “I think you’ve got something to take off that I can’t match.”

She flattens her back against the lockers. “Dare you to try,” she whispers, and then his lips are against hers again.

They end up in the showers, eventually – she had meant to try and clear his head, and yet it seems like he’s just fogging up hers – and it’s _nothing_ like before, not here, because Tim hadn’t even wanted to kiss at the station, when they were together, and now they’re bare under the spray of the cheap shower faucet, hands fused on one another’s bodies, lips fused together. They haven’t spoken again, haven’t bothered to try. It won’t make any difference and they both know it. They’re not silent, though, either, not with Tim’s lips smacking together as they work their way down Lucy’s wet neck and Lucy moaning softly against his head. His hand is rubbing at the small of her back; that one spot that no other man had ever managed to find, not until Tim, and air escapes her in that way that’s always made him chuckle a bit, but he’s still quiet, fingers trailing lightly. His mouth travels back up to her ear, biting lightly, tugging. “If I reminded you how much I love you, Luce,” he breathes against her, “do you think you could forgive me for it?”

She draws back, studying his face, and it’s him again, all of him. The clouds in his eyes are clearing, and his gaze is vulnerable, so open that she feels her own heart retreating. She presses her lips back to his, to make the question go away, the one he spoke against her ear and the one that lingers in his eyes. It seems to mollify him, because he reaches out and tugs her against him again by grasping her ass with both hands, so firmly that she squeaks.

Her own hands can’t seem to settle, they’re on his arms, rubbing away at invisible dirt, they’re in his hair, they’re stroking up and down his chest. She eventually locates his shampoo, and he lets her go long enough to allow her to squeeze a small amount onto her hand and rub it into his head. “ _Fuck_ ,” he utters softly as she scratches against the back of his scalp. He glares at her, a little, but he manages to shut her up when he reaches up with both hands to swipe his thumbs back and forth against her nipples. She shakes her head when he holds up the bottom strands of her own hair questioningly, but swears under her breath when he reaches for a washcloth.

She takes it from him, immediately, squirting out some gel to rub up and down his arms, even scraping her own nails under the tiny ends of his, washing him clean. She goes for his chest, next, cleaning up and down, scrubbing harder than she means to, and she starts to lower to her knees when she reaches his waist, moving down to his thighs and around to his ass and…

“ _Fuck_ , Luce,” he swears again, and she glances over and notices her hand grasping the head of him tightly. “You’re so fucking perfect, and I can’t…”

She springs up, fusing their mouths together again. His hand is under her thigh, now, and he tugs it around his waist, knocking her off balance. “I’m so angry with you, Tim,” her voice breaks. She might be tearing up, too, but it’s impossible to tell under the shower spray. “Every time I think about...”

“I know,” he says softly, fingers drifting between her legs, “I know, Boot. You deserve to be.” His lips press against her collarbone, teeth scraping. His length is pressing up into her, and his smell is so fresh and clean, he’s surrounding her, overwhelming her. She shudders with her whole body as his fingers press against her, rubbing slowly and then faster and faster.

“No,” she says suddenly, and he freezes. She turns away from him, drawing his hand back to her and pressing back against him. “Like this.” She can’t look at him, she won’t, it will ruin everything.

“Lucy,” he tries.

“Like this,” she repeats louder, her voice shaking slightly.

“Okay.”

It’s a mistake though, and she knows it instantly, because she can’t see him anymore but he’s still everywhere, hoisting her up with one hand, rubbing her again with another, pressing kisses against the back of her neck and pressing his head inside her, she can’t see him at all but he’s everywhere and isn’t that just a metaphor for everything that’s been wrong with her for over a month.

“Fast,” she orders, focusing forward as he starts rocking against her. _God-fucking-dammit_ , she can see his reflection in the mirror across the way and he’s looking right back into her eyes with the soul-crushing blue of his own and “Goddammit Tim Bradford you can’t do this to me.”

He stills. “What?”

Lucy curses, internally. “Nothing.”

“Lucy, don’t you lie to me, I’ll…”

“Do what?” She snaps. “Dump me again?” She sees the hurt flash through his expression in the mirror. “Please, just fuck me. Just do that much for me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, it’s that cloudy, empty gray, the one she was trying to get rid of all along. Her heart sinks, but then he’s rocking against her, much harder, and it’s a different side of Tim surrounding her and when they come, it’s together; they’ve always worked best together.

Tim’s panting as he slips out of her and helps her settle on her feet, his legs shaking from the extended exertion. He reaches for his towel, rubbing it up and down her body slowly as he watches her twist her sopping hair into a bun, squeezing water out and then securing it. He looks away as she steps back over to the pile of discarded clothes, and wordlessly hands her an extra t-shirt.

“Not much good, I’m putting back on dirty underwear,” she mumbles.

“Please, Luce.” His words are pleading. 

She sighs, slipping it on. When she finally looks back at him, he’s dressed as well. “You’ll go straight home and get some sleep?”

“I’ll try,” he sighs. “I can’t promise it.”

“Okay.” She starts toward her bag at the end of the long bench, but he stops her with one hand on her bicep. “What is it?”

He blinks, there’s a flash of blue. Suddenly, they’re fused together again, lips moving furiously against one another, and when he breaks away, it’s another expression altogether.

“Good night, Luce,” He says firmly, and then he shakes his car keys at her and walks away. 

* * *

The next morning, Lucy’s thighs are bruised. 

She sees them as she’s pushing the covers down her bed, too hot from the myriad of dreams that floated across her mind overnight. Two matching dark marks, one on each side, right where his hands and gripped her legs as he’d held her up, as she’d tried, in another way, to lift him up too. 

“Jackson,” she says an hour later, sitting at their kitchen barstool, finishing a bowl of cereal, “I think I’m ready to talk about it now.” And then she starts to cry. 

Immediately Jackson rushes around the counter, hopping into the next seat over and pulling her into a hug. He holds her that way for a while, patting her on the back awkwardly, and when she leans back, there’s no hint of expectation in his eyes. “Tim?” He says quietly. She nods. 

“I had never really thought about the fact that we talked so much in the shop,” Lucy begins, staring at the remains of her Mini-Wheats. “About everything, by the end, even things that had nothing to do with work. When we finished training, I missed it, and he seemed to, also. So we started hanging out after work…” 

“How long after?” Jackson asks. 

“Hanging out, about a week,” she finally meets his eyes. “A month after that, we were together.” 

Jackson swears. “And nobody knew?” 

“We were figuring things out, and we weren’t sure how it would look to everyone else, even though nothing happened before I was done. And I’ve never _had_ anything that precious to me before, Jackson, something that mattered to me so much, and I didn’t even realize how much it mattered until I was standing in the meeting room listening to him get promoted.” 

At that, Jackson looks away. “I’m sorry, Lucy, I should have known. I mean, we all kind of knew, the way you acted for a while there, and after your - well, after the way he rescued you, but I think we all thought neither of you were willing to go there.”

“I should have told you, you’re my best friend.” She lets out a breath at her own words, they fill her with a relief she hadn’t known she needed. 

Jackson smiles softly, shaking his head. “So you broke up because he’s our sergeant?” 

“We agreed on it, back when,” she runs her fingers over her ponytail, “back when it was just an unlikely possibility.” 

“But…” He pauses, thinking things through. “He loves you, Lucy. I know he does.” 

She feels the memory of the weight of his eyes on her over and over, ever since that morning, checking her for safety, for happiness. “I know that. Maybe not right after, but I do know that. But he hurt me, Jackson. And we were right - it is a bad idea for us to get into a relationship, this is the proof.”

“Or it’s proof that you shouldn’t have broken up, Luce.” Jackson tilts his chair a little more toward her. “Look, I love you, and I tolerate Tim. I won’t pretend I haven’t noticed how unhappy you’ve been since that day, even if I didn’t know why. Tim knows, too, even asked me to look out for you a couple times. I guess even though I haven’t really seen you _together_ , I’ve still seen you together, and I can tell, you know?”

She breathes out again. “Maybe.” 

“You haven’t forgiven him, I get it. And on the other hand…” he gives her an expectant look, “is there a reason you decided to tell me about this today?” 

She buries her face in her hands, mood turning toward embarrassment. “I may have accidentally slept with him last night. At the station.” 

Jackson grins, and then just as quickly he mimes gaggin. “At the _precinct_? Don’t tell me where, please, I’ll never be able to go there again without thinking about Tim Bradford’s pale ass.” 

Lucy laughs at that, even as her mind drifts in that direction. “You won’t think about his ass even for your best friend?” 

“Maybe with some - severe, mind you - limitations. And rarely. Mostly I just want to know what that means.” He side-eyes her. “Have you slept together more than once, since his promotion?” 

“Not until last night. It was just the once.” 

“ _And…_?” He waves his hand for her to continue, eager. 

“And it was incredible. Shut up.” 

“Oh my God, I can’t wait to tell Lopez.” Jackson flashes a wide grin again.He pauses. “I can’t tell Lopez, can I?” 

Lucy exhales. “I just think if anyone should tell her, it should be him, and he hasn’t.” 

“You know that doesn’t mean anything, right?” Jackson says, serious again. “He probably didn’t tell her for the same reason you didn’t tell me, just didn’t want to risk anything.” 

“I don’t know, Jackson.” She drops her face into her hands again, and Jackson resumes patting her on the back. 

“Just talk to him, okay? Even if you don’t get back together. You’ll feel better.” 

“Okay, I will,” she says dramatically, and then adds - “I do miss him.” 

He looks at her. “Do you have to?” 

* * *

The house still has the yellow front door. The color’s faded, now, and there’s a different handle, he thinks, but it’s the same door, same shutters, same house, same aching, painful memories. 

“Why are we here?” The voice next to him says, and he squeezes his hands on the steering wheel. 

“Just wanted to check in on the place, I guess.” He leans back in his seat. “Still look the way you remember it, Mom?” 

Sharon Bradford scans the street, thoughtful. “I think they’ve gotten new swings on that playset, next door. I think our porch swing is different.” 

“Probably broke after the fifteenth time I used it to climb in my bedroom window,” he comments, and she laughs. 

“Maybe.” She looks at him, face framed by long, silver hair. “Have you been thinking about your dad, hon?” 

“I know he’s not here, anymore.” He looks back at the house. “But this is the closest I can get.” 

Sharon hums, tapping on her linen pants. “Did you want to say something to him?” 

“Not any more or less than usual,” he answers, eyes still on the house. “There’s...There’s this case, at work. A guy who looks to be after his abusive father. He’s being sought after by half the southwest, now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s my job to find him.” 

“If that many people are after him, it seems like it might be a bit too tough for you alone, sweet pea.” 

“I know that. And I know that we aren’t the same, just because we both had to deal with that, with - dads that hit us. I _get_ it though, Mom. I feel like I understand him. And if I can understand him, I can find him.” 

“And what do the other officers think?” 

He sighs. “They don’t know about him, Mom. Dad. I’m the sergeant now, I’ve got to tell them how to handle this.” 

“Timmy,” he groans, “You do not have to carry the weight of your load alone, son. You shouldn’t.” 

“You did,” he mutters. 

“Yes, and look where that got me. I’m sixty-five years old and I’ve lived alone for close to thirty years. That’s no way to live.” 

“But you had to, to save us. You were my hero, Mom. You made sacrifices for me that I’ll never forget.” 

Sharon puts her hand over his. “I did it so you wouldn’t have to, Timmy. I don’t want you to live your whole life trying to repay the world for the mistakes of your parents, or for your own.” 

“What if some mistakes are too big to forgive?” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Your father’s? Or are we talking about something else?” 

“For sake of argument, let’s say something else a man named Bradford screwed up.” 

Sharon's face softens. “Well, time heals all wounds, and all that. I can’t say, for certain. I happen to think you are a man thoroughly deserving of forgiveness.” 

“Maybe.” He looks at his mother again. “Thanks, mom. If it weren’t for you, I would be that guy.” 

Her eyes water, and she reaches across the truck to hug him, as best she can. “You’re not that guy, honey. Never were, never will be. Your story goes much further than this street. You’re a good man. And I am very proud to have you as a son.” 

Eventually, they both grow tired and hungry, and he convinces his mother to let him buy her dinner on the long drive back to her condo. “You’re my hero,” he says honestly to her, standing in front of her freshly painted door. 

She smiles, tugging him down so she can kiss him on his cheek. “And you’re mine.” 

“I love you,” Lucy’’d blurted out, their first night away together, and then she’d looked horrified with herself. 

He’d been in the middle of cleaning up their dinner. “You...uh, are you sure?” He’d shifted a little closer to her, drying a plate, and he’d done his best to pretend his heart wasn’t thrumming. “You don’t seem very sure.” 

She’d swallowed, nodding her head up and down. “I didn’t make that face because I don’t, I made it because...oh shut up,” she’d retorted, as he was starting to grin. “I just don’t know if you thought that we were really there, yet.” 

Tim had thought about it. “I don’t think it’s a place, really, I was under the impression that love is really more of a feeling... _ow,”_ he’d cut off as she smacked him on the shoulder. 

“My parents never said I love you to each other,” he’d said much later, under the covers. “My mom would whisper it to me, when my dad wasn’t home, or when she put me to bed, but if he heard it, he’d scream at her about making me...well, making me soft. Isabel was the first person I ever said it to, other than my mom.” 

“You don’t have to say it,” Lucy had replied immediately, “It’s too fast, I shouldn’t have…” 

“I do, though,” he’d found her hand, skated his fingers up her arm, when she’d turned to look at him, she’d looked so pretty that his chest hurt. “I’m not good at saying it, getting the words to come out. But I do.” 

* * *

Tim’s not at the precinct, when they get back at the end of the shift on Monday night. 

“Officers,” Lieutenant Grey greets the crew arriving to clock out, “This afternoon at fifteen hundred hours, your sergeant headed out with a group of detectives to scope out a warehouse three miles away. We believe that Lawson is storing his weapons and stolen goods there. Twenty minutes ago, Bradford called in to let us know that they had spotted Lawson with some others. We believe that there has been an altercation, because we have not heard from any of the group since. You are not obligated to go, the evening shift is on its way over, but as I know...” 

“We have to get back there,” Nolan says instantly, and Jackson agrees, looking at Lucy. She looks down, dressed in her street clothes. 

“I’m not dressed.” 

“Harper and I will head over first, you can come up behind,” Nolan looks at Nyla to confirm. 

There are near constant messages on the radio from the time Jackson and Lucy slide back into the shop, but Tim’s voice isn’t carrying any of them. “7-Adam-24, requesting backup,” a frantic voice shouts, “four suspects, one in custody, three running on foot, one location unknown.”

“7-Adam-12, we’re ten minutes out and headed your way.” Lucy says, grip tight around the radio. “7-Adam-15, do you copy?” 

“7-Adam-15, we hear you, we’re coming up on the scene now, and…” Nolan’s voice disappears. “Oh my God.” 

“7-Adam-12, what are you seeing?” she presses harder, heart starting to race. 

“Lawson blew up the building.” Tim’s voice comes through finally, gruff and weak. “I...I’m somewhere near one of the doors, I think, but there’s a wall on my back and he’s still out there somewhere and...I don’t think I’m going to make it, Boot. I...don’t know where I am. I don’t have my weapon.” 

“ _Don’t_ you dare,” Lucy hisses, and she sees Jackson glance over at her, slipping a hand over hers in the periphery of her vision. “Harper and Nolan are on their way with backup. Dispatch, this is a 904, there may be a fire, we need someone to help dig out Sergeant Bradford, and an ambulance…”

She hears a vague “on their way” before Tim’s scratchy, faint voice comes through again. “I know I apologized, Boot, but I didn’t do enough. I should have turned it down, again, waited for another precinct. You deserved that.” There are noises in the radio, along with his voice, sounds like maybe fire crackling and doors and walls collapsing and just maybe the shouts of officers arriving at the scene to help, _please God_ , arriving at the scene, please not Lawson back to finish the job. “You’re probably laughing, huh, took me until my deathbed to open up, huh Luce?” 

Jackson’s fingers slide through hers, a more firm grasp, a gentle reminder, but Lucy can’t feel it. “You are not dying today, Timothy Bradford.” Her cheeks are hot with tears. “Not like this.” 

There are other officers arriving on the scene, some part of Lucy knows that, but the radios are silent except for the two of them, just Tim and Lucy, like it’s all come down to the two of them, her voice desperately trying to hold him to life, like it’s all there is. 

“It’s not such a bad way to go,” he tries. “To tell you the truth, I’ve always loved your rambling. It’s the soundtrack of my day, like listening to the news but only getting the important things. And you are the most important thing, Luce. I should have told you that a long time ago.”

“Not like this,” she whispers again, desperate. 

“I have to, Boot.” His voice curls around the last word, and even in the midst of this insanity it feels something close to comforting. “Because I love you. And I’ve loved you a long time, longer than I ever wanted to admit. I shouldn’t have hidden that from anyone, but least of all from you.” His voice cuts out, and there’s an intermittent sound of coughing, cut off by the break of transmission from his radio. “I..” - there’s a horrible hacking sound - “love you, Lucy Chen.” 

Her hands slips out of Jackson’s, and she presses the radio against her forehead, eyes screwed shut, her face wet and red. Absently, she notices that Jackson’s turned off the sirens, inching the shop along, eyes focused on her. “I love you too, Tim,” she makes out, finally. “I love you always.” 

Silence. 

Awful, heart-shattering, silence. 

The radio stays silent, and finally it falls out of Lucy’s hands, and she allows her body to fall towards Jackson, who wraps her up even as he pulls the shop over and shifts them into park. “Lucy,” he says quietly, rubbing her back. 

Her heart floats out of her body, up in the air, starts toward the clouds. 

Up.

  
  
  


Up.

  
  
  


Up.

  
  


“7-Adam-15,” Harper says, after what feels like months. “Officer Chen, be advised that we have secured Sergeant Bradford, he’s being loaded into an ambulance now, headed for Shaw Memorial. Lawson took off on foot, he’s in custody now.” 

She crashes back down to earth. 

* * *

When he was in the military, Tim learned how to sleep anywhere - his uncomfortable barrack, to the tune of half-hearted attempts at whispering, in a metal chair, waiting for orders, once, on the ground, pretending to be dead. 

He’d had practice with that last one, though. It’d come in handy in his youth - that seemed to be how his dad preferred him, anyway. 

He’s come to in hospitals before, too. After being shot, right at the start of Lucy’s training, after breathing life into her, the night after her kidnapping, once, just as a precaution, right before she’d finished, and after a nasty arrest. 

Sleeping anywhere always seems to come with consequences. He’s pretty sure the stabbing pain in his hip and around his left shoulder are among them, this time, but as he comes to the night of the Lawson pursuit, the only one he sees is the woman in the chair next to his bed, head bowed over her lap, long hair shading her face. She’s still in her uniform, but it’s a mess, belt missing, shirt unbuttoned. The sun is rising, shining through the window behind her, and _she’s_ a mess. She’s the only thing in the entire room. 

“Luce,” he tries, but it turns into a cough. She looks up in time for him to just get out a “Boot.” She’s at his side immediately, eyes wide, red. She’s tense with the effort of keeping herself quiet, he knows, and he slides his hand over to her as best he can, fingering the ends of her hair at her ribcage. “I’m all right, Boot. Be mad at me, I know you want to be.” Her eyes flash over to the corner, and there’s Grey, of course, but at that precise moment, Tim honestly couldn’t care less. “I was reckless, and I’m sorry.” 

“You scared the _shit_ out of me,” she breathes, clasping his wrist. “God, if I didn’t love you.” 

Tim has to fight a smile, then. “If I didn’t love you, too.” 

They glance over to Grey at the same moment. “Sergeant Bradford,” Grey begins, and seems to think again. “Tim, if you weren’t in the hospital right now, I’d be pretty determined to put you here.” 

Tim swallows. “That’s probably fair, sir.” There’s a pause, while Lucy helps him drink some water. “Would the first punch be for Lawson or for this?” He tilts his head to where his hand holds Lucy’s, thumb brushing over her own. 

Grey makes a face. “I’d say between the hospital visit and the paperwork, you’ll deal with enough for Lawson, but why don’t you give it a shot.” 

“I confronted him, sir. There were whisky bottles all over that warehouse. He wanted to kill his father there. His father - he always hit him when he’d been drinking Jim Beam. It’s not an excuse, but...” He clears his throat. “It made sense to me.” 

Grey tilts his head between Tim and Lucy. “And how about this?”

“I kissed him a month after my training ended, Lieutenant Grey,” Lucy cuts in. “Tim, he saved my life. And he helped me find my place in it. And he makes me brave, because I know no matter what, he's always there looking after me. And he…” she turns pink. “Well, he looks like that, sir, I have eyes.” 

“She stood up to me.” Tim continues, staring at the thin sheets of his hospital bed. “She didn’t need me, she never has, she has her own back, but having her to guard mine has made me a better man. She’s the kindest person I’ve ever known. She’s an incredible cop.” His lips twist. "And to me, she's the goddamn sun.” 

He attempts to straighten. “But more than that, Lieutenant, we didn’t do anything while I was her T.O., and we broke up as soon as I became her sergeant, and while I won’t pretend we’ve been perfect, we’ve done nothing unethical and I won’t apologize for a single minute of it, I’ll just ask for your advice on how we should move forward.” Their eyes meet, and there’s a spark that flashes between them. She gives him a slight nod, and he feels suddenly, undeniably alive. “Together.” 

“You’ll have to meet with the Ethics Committee, you know that.” Lieutenant Grey is silent for a moment at their nod. “You know,” he comments, sitting back in his chair slightly, “Captain Anderson commented on the wisdom of putting the two of you together, Chen’s rookie year. ‘You know what Bradford’s face looks like’,” he puts in air quotes. “Obviously I know what your pretty ass looks like. I laughed, Bradford. ‘That won’t be a problem when he’s through with training her’, I said. Who is the damn fool now?” 

“It wasn’t like that,” Tim says in a low voice. “We’re not like that.” 

“Tim,” Grey stands up. “We’ll have to talk. We’ll have to do quite a bit of talking, I’d imagine, but quite frankly, you’re not at your prettiest and I think we’d be better served doing it later. Until then, I think maybe you and Officer Chen should do the talking. I think that your previous cover is fairly well blown at the precinct, what with the public declaration over radios and all.”

Tim nods his head slowly, accepting. “Yes sir,” he replies. 

Grey stops at the door. “For what it’s worth, my wife thinks you two are very cute together. She’ll be thrilled that she was right about the two of you. Do you know how long I’m going to be hearing about that?” He’s halfway down the hallway when they hear “Didn’t think about my marriage at all, inconsiderate people.” 

* * *

“You know,” Lucy says to him, just as the sun’s starting to disappear across the ocean’s horizon, “I’ve never been sent to the principal’s office before. Is that what it was like?” 

“What, the Ethics Committee meeting this afternoon?”

She picks up his hand from where it’s been resting on her thigh, turning it over carefully. “Yeah. I felt like I was going to be sick.” 

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” he reminds her. “They saw that.” He bends over, smelling faintly of the beach, and presses a kiss to her temple. “Besides, I offered to quit. It’s their fault for not taking it.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, so softly he can hardly hear her over the waves. “I could have transferred.”

His lips shift down towards her ear. “They didn’t want to lose you any more than I do, Boot,” he whispers, “Lucky for us, they’re a lot smarter than me.” He kisses her cheek. “Kinda like how you’re a lot smarter than me.” 

She beams at him, then, and tries to wiggle away from his roaming mouth. “We have to get to Angela’s,” she reminds him. “You’re supposed to be grilling the steak. You don’t want to take Nolan’s trash talk lying down, do you?” 

“Absolutely not.” He kisses her squarely on the lips. “Lead the way.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've long thought that they're going to keep the slow-burn going by promoting Tim to sergeant as Lucy's finishing her training, and I have a bad habit of trying to think of the angstiest ways things could go. After 3x03 kinda hinted at Grey thinking about moving on, I thought it was probably time to get this out there. 
> 
> Also, the psychology stuff is from UCLA's actual psych department, I do not own.


End file.
